


eridan faps in an ablution trap

by Elendraug



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Bisexuality, Bulges and Nooks, Disaster Bi Eridan Ampora, Fantasizing, Gills, Illustrated, Jealousy, Male Solo, Masturbation, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Other, Pining, Polyamory, Quadrant Blurring, Solo, Threesome - F/M/M, Troll Gills (Homestuck), Underwater Sex, Wish Fulfillment, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 15:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug
Summary: CCG: TIME TO RELAX. LET'S ALL CRAWL INTO OUR COCOONS AND GET BUSY STIMULATING OUR AUTOEROGENOUS SHAME GLOBES.CCG: FIRST ONE TO START A WANK FIRE GETS A SHINY BOONDOLLAR.





	eridan faps in an ablution trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fox_Salz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_Salz/gifts), [hummingbirdbandit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingbirdbandit/gifts), [Snailman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snailman/gifts).



> spiritual sequel to the one I did for sollux, I had to _double back_ for eridan
> 
> written to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1-N2MHap38) on a loop, the whole album is great go check it out
> 
> dedicated to the three people most responsible for enabling me, lmao ♥ thank you
> 
> **ETA:** this is apparently the 100th fic in this OT3 tag? hell yes
> 
> **ETA 2:** Thank you [Mare](http://mare-erythraeum.tumblr.com) for the illustration, holy fuck

Eridan is pent-up and impatient, and what was intended to be a cold shower has rerouted into a one-eighty flip, with his clothing hung on a hook on the back of the door and the faucet running water onto his fingertips that’s on the hot side of warm, ticked beyond tepid with a quick adjustment. He deliberately does not plug the drain, and steps into the ablution trap, draws the curtain to close himself off, in as much of a sensory deprivation chamber as he can manage in something as standard as an ablution block, seafaring or shipwrecked or not. Although he’s alone, it’s nothing new, and hearing the impact of the water on the tub floor already has him wet with anticipation.

He sits down in the bathtub, legs outstretched, and glances between his thighs to see a hint of smeared violet washed away by the first approaching waves of the water as it builds enough past the drain to reach his body. With a short huff of breath, he tilts himself further back until his shoulder blades are against the base of the tub, and he shifts himself forward against the wall, his coccyx just shy of the drain. There’s tension that pulls tight in his hamstrings as he lifts his legs up to run parallel to the wall, to situate himself beneath the flow of the water, scooting further and adjusting the angle until the pressure falls erratically onto the folds of his nook.

He lets the ends of his horns tip back, throat bared to the air, and thinks of Feferi in a tank top soaked through by saltwater, the fabric of her sarong pushed backward to allow a quick tongue to lick against her the way the water from the faucet laps against his nook. The necklaces at her collar shake with the movements of her body as she rolls her hips against a waiting mouth, as two sets of horns catch against the fabric, as Sollux’s forked tongue finds its way through her folds and leaves her gasping for breath through trachea and gills alike. 

Eridan swallows and tries to steer the wanderings of his mind, to divert the well-worn path away from interlopers and back to fuchsia genetic material coating a tongue and a chin, of a tank top shoved up to give access to rumble spheres exposed, away from the ocean, evaporating water droplets in the open air. He wants his mouth on her as much as he wants the tentative unsheathing of his bulge beneath the pulsing warmth of the faucet. The persistent press of the water nearly keeps him coiled up internally, but he moves his hips out of the way of it to allow his bulge to seek its exit, and he catches its slick length in his hand just like Sollux would catch hers, larger than his, larger than _his_ , visible in fleeting fantasies of frenzied fucking. There’s a vision of himself over her, kissing quickly and moving softly and pailing together, and then of her behind him, slid deep inside him until she’s coaxing him open and hitting his seedflap.

The water wicks away any wetness between his legs that didn’t originate from its own source, save for the deep-set slickness in his most interior folds, and he digs his thumb into his own grub scar, at his hip, rubbing himself and lifting his hips towards the water to better receive its incessant stimulation running over and between the lips of his nook. The water is as hot as he is, warmed to its temperature as it travels up towards his torso, rocking against his gills like so many waves on the beach, offering a tantalizing promise of oxygen if the ambient atmosphere becomes too much to bear.

Eridan runs two fingertips against the unsheathed section of his bulge, easing it out, and considers the wet slide of Feferi sinking down onto him, or onto his face as he eats her out, or the shifting timbre of voices as it changes from her shouting his name to Sollux sighing it, whether from his bulge in him or his tongue on him, testing out every sound either of them are willing to release for him to hear. In his head it’s perfect, flush and pale and pitch and concupiscent above all, with his own name spoken in increasingly desperate moments of begging for pleasure he’s delivering, just the way they want it, the way he knows he can if given the chance.

His gills open to the water, and he lifts his hips up enough to reach down and unplug the drain again, where the gravity of his own weight closed it off. With his fingers rinsed clear he raises them to his mouth and sucks them in past his sharp teeth, careful of his own skin, and works his tongue between two of them as if they were a bulge or a nook or any kind of satisfying, eager flesh pushing towards his tongue for attention.

[ ](https://k.nickpic.host/bFZwGY.png)

With his left hand occupied, he returns his right hand to draw his bulge to the side, to lie at the junction of his hip and thigh, with its tip twisting around his trigger finger, as he aims himself towards firing off. As he raises his hips towards rhythmic tugging, he keeps the water landing at the base of his bulge, the folds of his nook gently jostled along with the movements of his hand, clenching himself and bringing his knees together to help it course a more direct channel over and barely between the lips of his nook. 

It’s easy to imagine the variations of sensation as Sollux’s split tongue working him over, the color that’s slick on his lips wheeling from fuchsia to violet as Eridan decides to stop lying to himself in the privacy of his own pan. Abs taut, stomach fluttering like he’s reaching towards god tier ascendance if he’s feeling pretentious, Eridan flicks his tongue against his fingertips and pretends it’s her bulge pressing past his teeth, pink and precious, and he wants to lick her until she’s coming on his collarbone.

He can feel his pulse as the water parts him, and he lifts his heel away from the wall and towards the handle, to tap it with his toes over to a higher heat. He recoils briefly as it’s adjusted too far but shudders at the increased warmth once it’s back to where it needs to be, warm and wet like his mouth would be, diligent as he goes down on him.

Eridan lets himself lie back fully again, pictures her hips over his head, lets both hands hold his bulge as his mind’s eye generates the rest, to slide his hands up from grub scars to gills to chest, thumbs teasing over her as his tongue does the same between her thighs. 

The water hits him hard and heavily, the constant current the same as it ever was, and gathered up suddenly into the tipping point that has him sitting up with his stomach tight, thighs shaking, knees knocked against each other as he pails beneath the patterns of water that may as well be Sollux sucking him down, lapping away every release of wetness, churned beneath the faucet as the tub fills with rising water and the rush of his slurry. He lets out a series of breathy moans for his own sake, the sound altered by the confined space of the shower stall, and the waveform of his orgasm hits stuttering peaks over again as he keeps himself beneath the water.

For a moment he loses himself in it, feels his blood pumping at his temples and in his chest and between his legs, then pulls himself away for a brief break. The water level rises enough that the sound of the stream has changed, landing in a liquid depth that dampens the intensity on his skin. He angles his bulge forward so the water runs over it from tip to base, as a column coursing down to catch the tip in writhing, whirling motions as it twists out of the flow. 

As it runs over him he imagines that the pressure is from Feferi pressing herself against him, tight around his bulge like his hand fisted at its base, steadying himself in the stream. Her horns could block the bathroom light, arced in opposite outward directions, tilting with her head as she throws it back and throws herself into moving her hips on his, her hands pushing down on his shoulders and holding him in place. He raises his hips to escape the dulled, submerged sensation, and considers the switchover from concave horns to a double silhouette against the same light, as the hue of the slurry slips to a split complement that coats his slit as he slides it over Eridan’s bulge, a triad as he trades her spots and she takes a place behind him. Her hair is as endless as the hydrosphere, cascading down her triceps and drifting over his bony shoulders, and she holds his horns to keep him close as he turns his head to lick at her chest, beneath the shell beads that cross her grey skin. 

The water rocks with him as he moves his hips, straining towards it as the pressure seems suddenly insufficient. His bulge blocks his view of his nook, but the stream is still hitting it, running down the underside of his bulge, fast over his folds. In the free-associative fantasy they’re all floating, weightless in the world ocean, with Feferi teasing her bulge back into him until his fins are twitching against the very real surface of the bathwater. Sollux leans back against her and tilts his head to kiss her, matte black lips against waterproof painted glossier and blacker, with his thighs wrapped around Eridan’s waist. Their positioning makes no sense without the support of the sea, and it's a situation easily solved by envisioning Sollux as dwelling within it, a gold circlet set between his horns, with gilded armbands twisting spirals like currents, as counterbalanced as scylla and charybdis. His eyes glow underwater, his gills work double time as he takes Eridan’s bulge and Feferi takes Eridan’s nook, with Feferi’s hands on Sollux’s ribs and hips to hold him steady, and Eridan’s hands finding hers over his skin. 

It’s all so close he can see their faces, with Feferi smiling over Sollux’s shoulder and Sollux smirking as he shivers, the currents playing with their hair like so many idle seeking fingertips. His own fingers find the folds of his nook and he parts himself for the faucet, his other hand gripped tightly on his bulge, guiding it to the tireless teasing splashing, and every muscle goes tight through his shaky legs and tensing abdomen as he comes again, back lifted away from the tub, his conjured companions present with affectionate eyes on him in three separate colors. He exhales so hard that there’s a backwash of air exiting his throat through his gill slits uncomfortably from where he drew it in by accident, gaping and gasping, half immersed. 

Eridan surfaces from the surreal and stands unstably. The water sloshes against his shins as he lifts himself out of it, a haze of violet coating his skin where he sat within the ablution trap. In a daze, he switches the settings from faucet to showerhead, and nudges the mix valve over to a slightly increased heat that would have been miserable on his nook but is perfect for the tense muscles in his back and shoulders. The tension that sits perpetually at the nape of his neck dissipates for a temporary respite, and he’s theatrical for himself as he plays that he’s centered and collected, as his bulge resheathes itself and he tries to savor the surge of oxytocin and endorphins as they ebb away from him. 

He slides a fingertip between the folds of his nook to seek out the slickness that’s left, whatever wasn’t already washed away, and he brings it to his mouth and sucks it off his skin, smelling and tasting the remnants of what had felt so satisfying in the moment and still has him wanting, if somewhat sated. He washes off, rinses off the faint stain of his own slurry with his hands scrubbing down his legs, lets the water course over both sets of gills, scratches his claws through the wet thickness of his hair and over his scalp, around his hornbeds. When he’s done he turns to face the spray and switches the settings to cool himself back down to his typical temperature. He lets the droplets hit his tongue, drinking from the sharp, ticklish pinpoints as he catches it in his mouth and swallows, dehydrated despite his surroundings. When that’s done, too, he shuts it off entirely to let the remaining water drop from the showerhead and the faucet, opening the drain until it’s gradually gone and has taken all evidence of his orgasm with it.

With wet feet on the floor and water evaporating off his skin, he steps out of the ablution block, unfazed by the chill. It’s easy to postpone the perusal of his own mental state, to instead find a book with a battle to read about, to occupy himself with something other than his material situation and indulge the escapism for just a while longer.

When he finishes one more chapter, he decides, that’s when he’ll address everything, but not one second sooner. Not until he’s well and ready to do so.

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place in whatever timeline and circumstances that you think are the most poignant


End file.
